


The Greenhouse Series

by Millefiori (Bellefiori)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-07
Updated: 2004-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellefiori/pseuds/Millefiori
Summary: The victim of a prank, Draco Malfoy receives unexpected aid from Neville Longbottom.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy
Kudos: 11





	1. One Winter Afternoon in Greenhouse Three

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters one and two originally published as shorts on millefiori.livejournal.com

Neville was crouched out of sight behind one of the potting benches when he heard the greenhouse door slam open, followed by whispers, snickering and a heavy thump. He straightened just in time to see the backs of three hooded cloaks hurrying back out the door.

They'd left the door wide open, and the freezing cold air was blowing in. Neville quickly shut the door, then looked down at the sound of a muffled moan. A fourth cloaked body lay on the floor; presumably that was the thump he'd heard.

Neville cautiously knelt down and pushed back the hood to reveal silvery blond hair. Malfoy. Neville sat back on his heels, his eyes widening as Malfoy moaned again, and half turned onto his back. His eyes fluttered open and he stared at the ceiling for a moment, before fixing his gaze on Neville.

"So, you were in on it too, Longbottom?" 

Neville shook his head. "No. Whoever it was just dumped you in here. You're in greenhouse three, by the way."

Malfoy scowled. "Bastards stunned me." He reached into his cloak and his scowl turned to panic. "They took my wand!"

"Er…they did more than stun you, Malfoy. It looks like they cast some charms on you while you were out." Neville could see the prank unfolding, now. "And they probably took your wand so you'd have to walk back through the school looking like…well, like that."

"Like what, Longbottom?" Malfoy said in a shaky voice.

"Uh…some cosmetic charms. Your hair…" Neville waved his hand over his own hair.

"Oh God." Malfoy dropped his face into his hands.

Neville fingered the handle of his wand. "I could try to undo them. If you want."

Malfoy's head snapped up. "No! But you could let me use your wand."

"Sorry, no," Neville said. "I'm not handing over my wand."

There was an uneasy silence as the two looked around, not quite sure what to do next. Neville's eyes kept tracking back to Malfoy, though, huddled miserably in his cloak, probably still feeling the effects of being stunned and facing certain humiliation. He abruptly came to a decision.

"I have some butterbeer. Do you want one?"

"What's it going to do, turn me into a canary?" Malfoy asked, his lip curling into a half-hearted sneer.

"No. It's just butterbeer. It'll warm you up." That's why I keep it hidden out here instead of in the tower, Neville thought to himself, but didn't say out loud as he went to his stash and got two bottles. 

Malfoy suspiciously watched as he opened them both. Neville handed him one. "No," Malfoy said. "I want the other one."

"Okay," Neville said, bewildered. He held out the other bottle.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "You drink first."

"Oh, for God's sake, Malfoy! Have you ever known me to pull a prank?"

"I don't know what you Gryffindors get up to."

Neville sighed, then took a swallow from each bottle. Warmth flooded through him; he hadn't realized how chilled he was. "There." He held out the bottle again, and this time Malfoy took it and drank, glaring at Neville all the while.

After a moment he relaxed a little and a flush of color appeared on his pale cheeks. "Thanks," he muttered.

Neville nodded, then took a deep breath. "Look, Malfoy. I've got an idea. If you wait here until dinner, most everyone will be in the Great Hall. There won't be as many people to see."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll be watching for me."

"At least it won't be half the school."

"They'll probably come looking for me."

"Maybe. If they do, you can hide and I'll tell them I haven't seen you. Much more likely they'll wait up in the castle where it's warm and dry, though. You have to go back sometime."

"Why are you doing this, Longbottom?" Mafoy asked, his eyes narrowing. "We've never been friends, and a Gryffindor would never help a Slytherin out of the goodness of his heart."

"I just don't like pranks, that's all."

Malfoy continued to glare, and Neville shrugged and went back to work. It was a stupid idea anyway, he supposed. Malfoy could take his chances as he chose. 

Neville was up to his elbows in compost when Malfoy finally got up, but he didn't leave the greenhouse. Instead he began wandering around amongst the plants. Neville opened his mouth to warn Malfoy, and just as quickly shut it again. Malfoy had attended the same Herbology lessons Neville had. He ought to know by now what he could and couldn't touch.

"Who was it?" he asked instead.

"Gryffindors, I expect," Malfoy drawled, raising an eyebrow as he smirked at Neville. It was a very different expression, given the smoky, dark shadows around Malfoy's eyes, and the shiny redness of his lips.

Neville cleared his throat. "You don't know?"

"They attacked from behind. Wasn't that _brave_ of them?"

"I've seen you do that a time or two."

Malfoy shrugged, his smirk briefly widening into a genuine smile and Neville realized with a shock that Malfoy looked…pretty. Neville quickly looked down, staring unseeing at the little Venemous Tentacula in his hands. Pretty? _Malfoy_?

He glanced up, trying not to stare. Yes, Malfoy really did look pretty. The charms had transformed his pale, pointed face, making his eyes huge and his mouth lush and kissable. Even his hair, which had been somehow charmed up into a wild, tousled mess, looked good.

Malfoy disappeared between a row of plants and Neville forced his attention back to the job at hand. 

"Arrgh!"

Neville jumped, wondering which of the tetchy plants Malfoy had offended, but he'd apparently only found a reflective surface, for the scream was quickly followed by a flood of colorful and scathing raillery against those who had cursed him.

Malfoy reappeared in the aisle, his cheeks pink, eyes blazing. "Why didn't you tell me what they'd done?" he demanded.

"I did," Neville said.

"You said 'cosmetic charms'! This is…I'm tarted up like a French whore, Longbottom! I can't go back to the school like this!"

"I think you look pretty," Neville blurted. He stared for a moment at Malfoy's disbelieving expression then, face burning, he turned to the sink and began washing his hands in the icy water.

"So that's why you helped me," Malfoy drawled, his voice entirely too close.

"No." Neville shook his head, not looking up as he continued to scrub his hands. "I told you, I don't like pranks."

"But you think I look pretty."

Neville bit his lip, focusing on a particularly stubborn bit of dirt lodged beneath his thumbnail.

"Come on, Longbottom, it's just you and me here. You can tell me."

Neville shoved the water off and grabbed a towel and began carefully drying his hands. "It was a slip of the tongue," he muttered. 

Malfoy laughed and Neville's eyes flew to his face. Malfoy's eyes were sparkling, alight with mischief, and he was standing so close Neville could smell the butterbeer on his breath. There was a treacherous tightening in his groin and Neville quickly stepped back, bumping against the edge of the sink. Malfoy followed, bracing his arms on either side of Neville, smirking up into his face.

"Scared, Longbottom?"

"I think we should get back to the castle. It's probably nearly dinnertime." He glanced at his wrist, only then remembering he'd left his watch in the pocket of his robes. 

"Not yet, it isn't," Malfoy said, not bothering to consult his own watch. "We have plenty of time. So tell me, Longbottom, you think I look pretty, do you?"

Neville grimaced. "I shouldn't have said that, okay?"

"Whyever not?" Malfoy leaned even closer, his breath warm on Neville's face, his curved lips full and lush and soft-looking. Neville knew he could walk away; Malfoy certainly wasn't holding him in place, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

"You're staring at my mouth, Longbottom," Malfoy whispered. "Do you want to kiss me?"

Neville opened his mouth, but no words came forth.

"I think you do." 

Neville shook his head, pushing himself farther back against the sink, but Malfoy stepped even closer, pressing the length of his body against Neville's, and then Malfoy's lips were pressing against Neville's, and they felt just as soft and luscious as they looked.

Neville was astounded; he couldn't believe this was happening. But he could feel Malfoy's body warm and solid. Malfoy's hand in his hair, pulling his head down. The cold, damp wool of Malfoy's cloak clutched in his hands. Malfoy's cold nose and warm, wet, butterbeer-flavored mouth, slanting against his own, endless kisses punctuated by whimpers and moans and breathy sighs, and God, but Malfoy could kiss!

So lost was he that Neville didn't realize quite how turned on he was until he felt Malfoy's hand snaking between their bodies to rub his erection. Even through the material of his pants and trousers the friction was delicious, radiating shivers of pleasure through his body.

Malfoy was murmuring something, but the words were lost in Neville's mouth, drowned out by the pounding of his heart, and Neville suddenly realized he was about to come in his pants. "Malfoy, no, wait!" he gasped. 

But Malfoy didn't stop; he just rubbed harder, swallowing Neville's moans with his kisses, and then it was too late, and all Neville could do was ride it out, dimly aware of the spreading warmth in his pants, his buckling knees, only his arms around Malfoy's thin shoulders keeping him upright.

It seemed an age before Neville could open his eyes and focus. When he did, the first thing he saw was Malfoy smirking, and his stomach dropped when he saw that Malfoy had used the distraction to get Neville's wand. He twirled it about between his fingers, then pointed it at Neville's groin and murmured a spell. Neville closed his eyes, prepared for the worst, when the rapidly cooling mess in his pants disappeared, leaving him dry and tingling.

His breath left in a rush and he opened disbelieving eyes. Malfoy was muttering more spells, this time aiming the wand at himself. The cosmetic charms faded away, and Neville was faced with the familiar visage, pale and sharp, Malfoy's blond hair now hanging lank about his face. The lips were different though -- the glossy scarlet lipstick was gone, but they were still a bit swollen and reddened from all the kissing. And they still looked soft and delicious, curved into a little half-smile, as Malfoy tucked the wand back in Neville’s pocket.


	2. A Thinking, Smiling Slytherin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville copes with the aftermath of 'The Incident'

Now that a few weeks had gone by, Neville found himself thinking of that afternoon in greenhouse three as The Incident, for lack of anything better to call it. The Incident; it encompassed the whole crazy offer, and how shockingly pretty Malfoy had looked with makeup on his face, and the feel of Malfoy's warm, solid body, and hot, butterbeer-flavored breath mingling with the cold air and the way Neville's lips had tingled from all the kissing and how very good it had felt.

A pleasant fullness began to settle in Neville's groin and he quickly shook away the thoughts. Bad enough he spent so much time remembering it alone in his curtained bed, or in the relative privacy of the showers. He simply couldn't do that in the library or a classroom or at meals in the Great Hall.

Neville was still a bit shocked that his first experience of sex had been standing up in a greenhouse with another boy. He'd always rather thought it would be in some distant, hazy future, in a bed, surrounded by candlelight and soft music, with an as yet unmet girlfriend. Did a hand on the outside of one's trousers even count as sex? Remembering the way Malfoy felt in his arms, Neville rather thought it did. Anyway, if it wasn't actual sex, it was still the first time he'd had an orgasm in the presence of another person. Surely it wasn't abnormal to want to savor the memory? Even if that other person was Draco Malfoy.

Neville was under no illusions about Malfoy savoring the memory, however. He expected there would be unpleasant repercussions. He didn't know what form they would take, but he felt pretty certain they would be painful and humiliating. Malfoy was Malfoy, after all; Slytherin to the bone. And Neville was...well...Neville. Of all the people in the school, Neville figured he was pretty low on the list of those Malfoy would want to have sex with. Or whatever it was they'd done.

Ever since The Incident, Neville had been very carefully not looking anywhere near Draco Malfoy, or his lips, or anything to do with anything Slytherin. Malfoy was no longer taking Care of Magical Creatures, and Neville was never so grateful that he no longer had Potions classes to deal with. The idea of Malfoy watching and laughing while Snape humiliated him made Neville feel distinctly ill. As it was, their schedules rarely overlapped, and outside of meals they really weren't in the same vicinity all that often. It should've been easy to avoid looking at Malfoy. But for some reason it wasn't. If Malfoy was nearby, Neville's eyes seemed to track toward him, quite independent of Neville's wishes or commands. And, to Neville's dismay, when this happened he often saw Malfoy looking back.

At first, when their eyes met, Malfoy would simply give Neville a brief, appraising look, then turn away, as if Neville was not worth his notice. Neville, who grew hot and queasy whenever this happened, was not fooled. Malfoy clearly hadn't forgotten about The Incident. Those looks said he was thinking about it. And in Neville's experience a thinking Slytherin was never a good thing.

And then one day Malfoy seemingly came to a decision on how he planned to torment Neville, for he suddenly started smiling. It wasn't at all obvious, just quick little half-smiles that curved Malfoy's lips, as brief as the looks, and often unnoticed by anyone but Neville. When they were noticed, either by Neville's housemates or the Slytherin gang that typically surrounded Malfoy, it seemed they were written off as a typical Malfoy smirk. But Neville knew what Malfoy's smirk looked like, and it wasn't that.

As the days wore on, Neville spent a rather inordinate amount of time analyzing the smile. He'd first seen it on Malfoy's face after The Incident, when Malfoy had put Neville's wand back in his pocket. It was an odd smile, Neville thought. Not at all sweet, but not sour or mean either. Definitely not a smirk. It wasn't exactly smug, but there did seem to be an air of self-satisfaction about it. And, if Neville were being perfectly honest, the smile was rather...attractive.

Attractive or not, though, Neville was apprehensive. If a thinking Slytherin was bad, a thinking, smiling Slytherin was a dreadful thing indeed.

So Neville waited, and tried to resign himself. And, on the Friday night before the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match, Malfoy finally made his move. Neville was just finishing his after dinner pudding, half-listening to Dean's enthusiastic attempts to convert Edward Bones to the joys of Muggle football, when he glanced up, then tried not to stare. Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, was headed directly toward the Gryffindor table. Neville's dinner turned to lead in his stomach.

Next to Neville, Ron spotted them too, and began to bristle. "What does he want?"

"Just ignore him, Ron," Hermione said.

"No new broom this year, Potter?" Malfoy drawled. "I'm not sure that old Firebolt of yours can keep up any more." Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. That was really rather weak, Neville thought, frowning. Not at all up to Malfoy's usual clever, if nasty, standards.

"It'll keep up fine, Malfoy," Harry said.

"I suppose we'll see tomorrow."

"I suppose we will," Harry replied, but Malfoy was no longer looking at Harry. He was staring right at Neville, and when he saw that Neville was looking back, he half-closed his eyes and puckered his lips, making a loud kissing sound. Crabbe and Goyle laughed again, and Neville felt his face heating as Malfoy turned and led his cronies away.

"What was that all about?" Ron said, staring at Malfoy's retreating back. "Bloody Malfoy..."

"Just ignore him, Ron," Hermione said crisply. "Every time you rise to his bait it just encourages him."

"Neville?" Harry was looking at him, a bewildered expression on his face.

Neville shrugged, and muttered, "Malfoy." That seemed to be answer enough for Harry, who turned his attention to the escalating argument between Ron and Hermione.

Neville idly pushed around the remains of his pudding. Was that what Malfoy had been building up to? Neville knew Malfoy would exploit his weakness somehow, but he'd been expecting something more along the lines of a loud, mocking, and very public announcement that Neville was a poof who liked his boys to wear lipstick. Perhaps that was coming...once everybody heard about what Malfoy had done and got to wondering why he'd done it.

But days went by and there was no announcement, no rumors, nobody laughing behind his back -- well, at least not about him being a poof -- there was just Malfoy, making kissy-faces at Neville, whose blushing embarrassment seemed to delight Malfoy and his fellow Slytherins. Neville had been able to put off his curious housemates thus far, but he could see them watching Malfoy's antics, turning to Neville for explanation, and he was going to have to tell them something.

Another unwelcome consequence of Malfoy acting the prat all over the school was that, in addition to the memory of The Incident, Neville was now being tormented with visions of Malfoy's puckered lips, just begging for a kiss, and God help him, Neville was beginning to think Malfoy's face was just as pretty without make up charms as with. Visions of cradling that face in his hands, kissing that soft mouth, were beginning to intrude into Neville's most private moments, as well. What was worse, Neville's body was beginning to respond to Malfoy in ways totally unsuited to the all too public settings in which they encountered one another.

All in all, Neville was at the point where he was ready to strangle the bloody git.

That night, at dinner, Malfoy did it again: the look, the fake-kiss, the little half-smile. And Neville felt the familiar heat in his face and the swelling in his groin as Malfoy led his sniggering Slytherins away from the table of scowling Gryffindors.

That night, in the dormitory, Dean finally asked, "Hey mate, what's Malfoy on about, anyway?"

Neville took a deep breath; he'd thought carefully about what he would say. Now, if he could just say it without saying too much...

"Malfoy...caught me snogging someone out in greenhouse three." He felt his face growing hot, and his stomach rolled as he said the words aloud. "He's just teasing me about it."

"The great, bloody git," growled Ron.

"Neville, you dog!" Seamus had a huge grin on his face. "You've been holding out on us! Go on, who was she?"

"Nobody you'd know...n-not a Gryffindor," Neville stammered. "Anyway, it didn't work out, exactly. I don't think...that is, I won't...I won't be seeing...her again."

"You could point her out to us at breakfast," Dean offered. "Maybe we do know her."

Neville shook his head, backing toward the door. "I don't think she wants anyone to know about it..."

"Aww, come on, Neville!" begged Seamus. "We won't tell anyone if you don't want us to, but you have to tell us!"

Neville coughed, wondering if it were possible for one's face to catch fire. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

Seamus groaned and Neville beat a hasty retreat to the showers before they could say more. He was still quite discomfited, but also relieved and cautiously pleased. Word would get around, it would explain Malfoy's bizarre behavior, and Neville wouldn't look too bad. And if Malfoy himself didn't contradict the story....

What Neville couldn't understand was why Malfoy was doing this at all. He had to have known he'd escaped from The Incident free and clear -- Neville had told nobody, nor would he. If Malfoy himself had let it lie, nobody would've ever suspected, not that they did now. Or at least nobody seemed to. Neville hoped.

He sighed as he stepped into the shower. Damn Malfoy. Neville should've been enjoying his first Snape-free, Potions-free year, not wondering every time he left Gryffindor Tower if this was finally the day that Malfoy would spectacularly humiliate him. Or if this would be the day he spectacularly humiliated himself when Malfoy glanced his way with those pursed lips and dreamy eyes, reminding Neville of how snogging him felt and smelled and tasted.

Here at least, alone, he could let the thoughts come, imagining his soapy hand was Malfoy's. Later, when he returned to the dorm, he was relieved to find everyone already asleep. He slipped into his own bed and loosed the curtains, grateful that there were no more questions.

The next day he made sure to get up early and snatch a bit of breakfast that he could eat on the way to the greenhouse. Likely as not the others would leave it alone once they realized that Neville was remaining stubbornly silent, but this way it wasn't an issue at all. And it was for this reason that evening found him studying at a table in the far corner of the library instead of the comfort of the Gryffindor common room.

That was where Malfoy found him.

Neville, who had nearly fallen asleep over the ancient botanical drawings he was studying, leapt to his feet at the sound of Malfoy's drawling voice, heart pounding, adrenaline flooding his body.

Malfoy was nearly doubled over, hands clasped over his mouth, laughing at Neville's obvious fright.

"Malfoy, you git," Neville said weakly, willing his heart to slow down. His heart, however, had other ideas, shifting easily from the panic of being suddenly wakened to the panic of Malfoy, alone, within arm's reach. For Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be seen, and there was no sound other than Neville's harsh breathing and Malfoy's muffled laughter.

Neville narrowed his eyes. Alone. This was the perfect opportunity. Neville grabbed Malfoy's robes and began dragging him around behind a large shelf of books.

"I say, Longbottom, there's no need to manhandle me," Malfoy said, though he came along willingly enough.

Taking a quick look around, Neville leaned close. "Malfoy, what is wrong with you?" he hissed. "Do you want people to know what happened that day?"

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it," Malfoy taunted softly.

"Oh, you made sure of that, didn't you?" Neville clenched his teeth and briefly closed his eyes. "Yes, all right, Malfoy," he continued in a lower voice. "I admit it. I enjoyed it. Are you happy? Is that what this is all about? Will you stop now?"

"What's the matter, Longbottom? I don't look pretty enough? You only want to snog me when I'm painted up like a whore, is that it? Shall I cast a lipstick charm?"

"Of course you...I mean, I...what?" Neville stared into Malfoy's wide, gray eyes, and his hands fell to his sides.

"You heard me."

"Have you been...are you..." Neville wavered, sure he couldn't be right, but...

"Malfoy, are you _flirting_ with me?"

Malfoy's lips curved into that maddening smile and Neville grabbed the front of his robes, yanking him forward, and yes, Malfoy's lips were as soft as Neville remembered, and his mouth was warm and wet -- no butterbeer this time, just plain, undiluted, delicious Malfoy -- and somehow Malfoy got his hands inside Neville's robes and he slid them under Neville's jumper, and cold! they were so cold, but good, good, and his own hands were curved around Malfoy's face, the way he'd been imagining all this time, tilting it just so....

Some breathless time later, Neville pulled back, afraid of losing control as he had done last time. However, staring at Malfoy's soft, reddened lips wasn't exactly helping matters.

"My God, Longbottom," Malfoy drawled, his face still cupped in Neville's shaking hands. "It certainly took you long enough."

Neville let out a soft huff of disbelieving laughter. "Malfoy, you are the biggest git."

"Shut up and kiss me," he said imperiously. "We only have half an hour, which isn't my problem, since I'm a prefect, but we don't need you caught wandering around after hours--"

Neville kissed him.


	3. In the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Neville Carry On

They met all over the school, aided greatly by Malfoy's prefect duties and Neville's longstanding habit of going off to study or work in the greenhouses alone.

They didn't talk about it. What was the point? Malfoy's father was a Death Eater, and Malfoy probably would become one as soon as he could. Neville didn't think there was much of a chance that Malfoy would turn his back on his family or the values he'd been brought up with. And Neville certainly had no intention of changing his own mind. As far as he was concerned Voldemort and his supporters would be stopped, and he was fully prepared to give his own life to see that it happened. 

But Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater yet, and so, by unspoken agreement, they were careful to avoid topics that might lead to politics, Muggles, bloodlines, Harry Potter or He Who Must Not Be Named.

However, they did discuss it, once, though Neville was never quite sure if that had been real or a dream. Somehow Malfoy had obtained a bottle of rare vintage port and the wee hours of a Saturday morning in May found the two in the Room of Requirement, sprawled on a huge, cushy sofa, the table next to them littered with the remains of fruit, cheese, chocolate, crystal glasses and the empty bottle of port.

"Harry's going to will win, you know." Neville remembered saying that. Malfoy lay in Neville's arms, his face hidden in the curve of Neville's neck. 

"I expect I'll die before it's over," Neville continued, "but Harry will win."

Malfoy stiffened in his arms. "You'd die for Potter? He's the reason my father is in prison!" 

"Malfoy, your father's in prison because he's a Death Eater and he got caught."

"If it hadn't been for Potter--"

"He was going to kill us, you know," Neville said, cutting off Malfoy's snarled words. "He was going to kill me."

"What?"

"He was giving the orders and I heard him. He didn't want them hurting Harry, but 'You can kill the others if necessary,' he said." Malfoy's body was rigid against him. Neville continued, "Later on he said my death wouldn't be a great shock to my Gran since she was used to losing family members to their cause."

There was a long silence. Malfoy didn't move or speak and Neville closed his eyes, eventually drifting off to sleep.

Neville woke alone with a foul and furry mouth and a sick, insistent headache. He slowly opened his eyes to the heavenly sight of a pitcher of iced water and a bottle of Hinkle's Hangover Helper. To his relief, the potion and three glasses of water had him feeling like himself again. His watch told him that it wasn't too late to get some breakfast, and his mood brightened further when he saw that his robes had been charmed clean and neatly folded over the back of a chair.

Unfortunately Neville's cheerful mood didn't last long; when he walked out of the Room of Requirement the first thing he saw was Harry, leaning against the wall opposite the door, glaring fit to kill. Shite. 

"Morning, Harry," Neville said, and started walking toward the Great Hall. Harry fell into step beside him.

"I closed your curtains last night so nobody would know you never came in."

"Thanks." Neville said. He cast about for something else to say, but before he could come up with anything Harry grabbed his sleeve, pulling him to a halt.

"Damn it, what are you playing at, Neville?" Harry hissed. "I know you and Malfoy were in there together. Dobby told me. What are you doing with him?"

"We're…friends." Neville pulled his robe free from Harry's grasp. "And Dobby should mind his own business and respect other people's privacy." 

"I was _worried_ about you."

Neville felt himself soften. "I…appreciate that, but there's nothing to worry about. You can see I'm fine."

"Neville, he's a Death Eater!"

"His father is a Death Eater. He's not." The unspoken 'yet' hung in the air between them. Neville sighed. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing, Harry." He started walking again, and Harry stayed right beside him, silent until they were almost at the doors of the Great Hall. 

"I just don't understand, Neville," Harry finally said. "How can you stand to be around him after everything he's done to you? All the nasty things he's said?" 

Neville turned to Harry, trying to clamp down the tide of bitterness that was rising inside him. "He does it because it makes his friends laugh, Harry. Haven't you heard them? All the Slytherins think he's hysterical. Just like everyone in Gryffindor laughed at Fred and George Weasley. It's all very funny when the joke's not on you!"

Neville shut his mouth before he could say anything more, closing his eyes against Harry's stunned expression. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again, continuing in a much softer voice. "You know what You-Know…I mean, V-Voldemort's followers did to my parents. Malfoy's not going to turn me into a Death Eater, if that's what you're worried about."

"Neville, that's not what I'm worried about." Harry stared at Neville for a moment, then his gaze lifted and his face tightened into a glare. Neville turned to see what he was looking at and saw Malfoy watching them through narrowed eyes. Neville let out an exasperated sigh and, determined to ignore them both, made his way to the Gryffindor table.

Harry said no more about it, either to Neville or anyone else as far as he could tell. At any rate, nobody seemed to suspect that his relationship with Malfoy was anything other than what it had always been, and when they were seen together it was assumed that Malfoy's intent was to inflict some sort of torment.

On the last day of school Malfoy sent Neville an owl, instructing him to come to the alcove behind the statue of Oberand the Obnoxious before the feast. Neville thought as he made his way toward the fifth floor alcove that it was hard to believe they'd made it all the way to the end of term without discovery. He supposed, given that they were both boys, and the acrimony between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and the very improbability of accord between someone like Malfoy and someone like Neville, they'd have to be actually be caught snogging -- or worse -- for anyone to guess what was really going on. And after tomorrow there would be no chance of that, Neville thought a little sadly.

As he approached the statue, Neville slowed and looked around to make sure there was nobody about. Malfoy's pale hand shot out of the shadows and grabbed Neville's robe, yanking him into the alcove and up against Malfoy's body. "What took you so long?" he hissed.

"I was packing," Neville whispered. "All you said was 'before the feast' -- you didn't give me a specific time--"

"Oh, do shut up, Longbottom!"

"You asked!"

"It was a rhetorical question," Malfoy snarled. "Honestly, I don't know why I put up with you."

Neville raised his hands to Malfoy's face, sliding his fingers into Malfoy's soft hair. "I don't know either," he said. "What was I thinking? Packing, when I could be here listening to you nag at me."

"When you could be here snogging me, you idiot. And it's probably our last chance."

Neville bit his lip, trying not to grin. "Snogging? Oh, is that what you wanted me for?" 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything more Neville leaned down and kissed him. 

Suddenly Malfoy stepped back, pushing Neville's arms away and smoothing his own hair. Neville stepped back as well, and almost as soon as he had done so Snape himself was upon them. The blasted man was more silent than a ghost, and Neville couldn't imagine how Malfoy had known he was coming, but Neville was very, very glad he did.

"Oh, Professor Snape." Malfoy smiled up at Snape -- a smile that quickly transformed into a sullen pout as he turned back to Neville. "I just found Longbottom here. I expect he was planning to meet some girl, but unfortunately he's all alone." Disappointment rang clear in his voice. 

Neville balled his fists in his pockets, cursing himself for tempting fate with his earlier thoughts. Would Snape see, as Neville clearly could, just how red and swollen Malfoy's lips were? His heart hammering fit to burst, Neville tried to look innocent as Snape's black eyes raked over him. "Like I told Malfoy, sir, I was just sitting here having a think, waiting for the feast to start," he offered.

"Well, the feast is about to start, Longbottom, so you'd best not tax your brain any further. Oh, and that will be five points from Gryffindor," Snape added, "for wasting Malfoy's time." Snape turned away and swept off down the corridor. Malfoy shot Neville a glorious smile, then hurried off to catch up with Snape. 

"Sir? About my summer project, could you tell me more about the different properties…" Malfoy's voice trailed away as he and Snape disappeared. Neville sagged against the wall, shaking and weak with relief. 

Next morning, worried that he wouldn't get a chance to speak with Malfoy before they boarded the train, he sent an owl of his own, once again urging Malfoy to keep himself, Crabbe and Goyle away from Harry and his friends. Neville surreptitiously watched as Malfoy untied the message, his face darkening as he read it, and he finally raised his head to glare across the Hall at Neville.

Neville sighed. Oh well. At least he'd tried. 

Once on the train he settled into a compartment with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and occasionally Ginny, though she spent a good deal of time visiting friends in other compartments. Neville himself was feeling a little melancholy and avoided conversation by burying himself in a book. He hadn't really allowed himself to think about it before, but now that they were leaving Hogwarts behind, Neville realized he was going to miss Malfoy. 

As the train neared King's Cross Neville found himself growing ever more miserable. Determined to shake off the gloom he put his book away and went to use the toilet. He dawdled as long as he could, trying to kill some time. When he finally returned to the compartment it was obvious something had happened in his absence; the upshot, of course, being that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had been hexed into insensibility and tucked away somewhere on the train. Rolling his eyes with exasperation, Neville sat back down.

When the train finally pulled into the station Neville let the others go ahead, ignoring Harry's probing look. Once they were safely gone, he went looking for Malfoy. 

"Malfoy, you idiot," he said softly. It seemed to take forever to remember the countercurse to get rid of the feathers, and when he'd almost decided he'd have to go look it up he finally got it. 

Malfoy groaned and blinked. "Mother?" 

"No, it's me," Neville said.

"Longbottom?" Malfoy turned his head to look at Neville. "So, come to gloat, have you?"

"No." Neville shook his head. "I came to un-hex you. I think I'll leave your friends to you, though."

Malfoy scowled. "I'm not going to forget this, Longbottom. I'm going to make them pay. I'm going to make _Potter_ pay!" 

Neville shook his head. "Have a good holiday, Malfoy." He leaned forward and kissed him, then clambered to his feet and headed back to get his things.

"You'd best write to me!" Draco yelled, his demanding voice following Neville down the corridor. Neville smiled, and realized that he didn't feel quite so gloomy any more.


End file.
